


Autograph

by orphan_account



Category: Bandom, Brett Anderson - Fandom, Suede (Band)
Genre: 90's Music, Affairs, Awkward Flirting, Awkward Sexual Situations, Band Fic, Bandom - Freeform, Biting, Crush at First Sight, Crushes, Dom/sub Undertones, Don't Like Don't Read, Drunken Shenanigans, Erotica, Explicit Consent, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fantasy Fulfillment, Fiction, Fluff and Smut, French Kissing, Fucking, Gentle Kissing, Gentle Sex, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Idols, Inspired by Music, Kinky, Lemon, Multiple Orgasms, Music, Older Man/Younger Woman, One Night Stands, One Shot, Oral Sex, Pop Culture, Porn With Plot, Reader-Insert, Resolved Sexual Tension, Rough Sex, Seduction, Sensuality, Sex, Sex Drugs and Rock and Roll, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Shameless Smut, Sugar Daddy, Surprise Kissing, Swearing, Temptation, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-01
Updated: 2017-08-03
Packaged: 2018-12-09 15:19:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11671752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: You're a hopeless fangirl at heart, so when your friend informs you that your celebrity crush, Suede's frontman Brett Anderson, is staying at the hotel she works in, you make the impulsive and risky decision to try and meet him in person.But what will happen, when you finally come face to face with the man you've idolised - and fantasised about - for so long?Written as a bit of fun really, from the reader's perspective (reader-insert) as a four-part mini story.Basically porn with a plot.All kudos/comments are greatly appreciated - I know there just HAS to be other women out there who dig Brett Anderson and wishes there were more bandfics which feature him.I'm writing this lemon (along with my fluffier Brett fic, Just A Girl) from the viewpoint of 'see a need, fill a need'So, hope you enjoy!





	1. Superstar

"You're going to get me fired, I hope you realise that." Jess hisses at me through clenched teeth.

"I won't, just...just trust me. Please. I promise I won't do anything stupid."

My friend scoffs openly at me, and I see her nostrils flare in indignation as she reluctantly hands me her name badge. "You already are! This whole scheme of yours is ridiculous, you're like some love-struck teenager."

I take the name badge from her, and pin it hastily to my black T.shirt. All the while I can feel the adrenaline surging, making my hands tremble and my heart palpitate in my chest.  
"I know." I reply feebly. "I'm sorry. But I'm never going to get another chance like this."

And this is true. I won't.  
I've already missed one opportunity and completely wasted another. Now I'm like a woman possessed - or perhaps, obsessed would be more a more accurate way of phrasing it - and I can't let it go.  
I just can't.  
I can't walk out of this hotel, away from the life-long object of my desires, knowing I'll never be this close to him again in a personal capacity, and not at least attempt to converse with the man.

 

For the longest time, I've had the absolute biggest crush on Brett Anderson.  
Ever since I first saw his impossibly handsome face adorning the front cover of a music magazine, I've been hijacked by my hormones.  
There's just something about him.  
Well, there's PLENTY about him actually....he's good-looking, charismatic, creative, intelligent and.....sexy as all hell.

Being the frontman of one of my most favourite bands, as well as a successful solo-artist, it's a huge bonus that he's so easy on the eye.  
I've spent so many hours of my life sitting transfixed, watching live performances and music videos on repeat.  
As a songwriter, I know I'll most likely sound biased when I say he's an artistic genius, but I really don't care.  
Not everyone 'gets' Suede. They've always been predominantly a band for the 'outsiders', those who feel like they don't quite fit in, or exist on the fringes of mainstream society.

I regrettably missed out on their glory days of the early nineties, due to me still being too young to fully appreciate music, and it was only during the tail-end of the 'Coming Up' era did I discover them.  
So I've never met any of the band members, or experienced the thrill of hanging around outside a venue, or waiting patiently for their tour bus to pull up so that I might be lucky enough to get an autograph or have a photograph taken with Brett.  
Or better still, actually touch him.....

Oh yes, I've seen the clips on YouTube.  
The footage from those early gigs where he'd lean out into the crowd and have his shirt torn to shreds.  
I've stared longingly, eyes green with envy, open-mouthed, caught up in inappropriate thoughts at the sight of his lean, sweat-slicked body glistening in the glow of the stage lights.  
Wow, what I wouldn't give to have been there in the audience. To have been able to reach out and just touch him.

I suppose you might say that watching Brett's overtly sensual performances were like a sexual awakening for me.

The way his black fitted-jeans hung low on his narrow hips, and the tight-fitting shirts that clung to his form mercilessly, or exposed his well-defined chest, had rather a startling effect on my heart as well as my groin.

Then there's his showmanship. His movements and overall stage-presence.  
The way his hips sashay slinkily in time to the thrashing guitars, his attitude alluring, commanding and exciting.  
He's an enigma and his sexualised display, especially his use of the microphone - yes just a simple, average microphone - is like some sort of tool of seduction.  
In between his warbling beautiful vocals, he uses it as a prop, swinging it wide around his head in a controlled, confident motion before grabbing the wire and teasing it between his legs with a flair of sensuality that makes me melt into a puddle.  
If anyone else did this, it would most likely look ludicrous, but Brett Lewis Anderson has always had the demeanour of some kind of genuine rock God. 

Or rather, a sex God. The way he wiggles his arse and masterfully manipulates the microphone wire so that it swings and wraps around his entire upper body, entangling him as he bows flamboyantly from the waist, is enough to make any female Suede fans' ovaries explode.

Okay, so I know I really ought to be more adult about it, and should've grown out of swooning over my crush by now, but I can't help how I feel.  
I'm not obsessive, I'm just a hopeless fangirl at heart.

Even as Brett himself has matured over the years and his reputation for being a bit wild has mellowed, he's still - if not more so - undeniably attractive, not to mention incredibly talented.  
Gone has the hedonism of his rock 'n roll lifestyle. The leather and open-shirts having been replaced by Aquascutum suits and Aston & Buller ties, but dear God his suaveness just adds to his appeal.

 

I wasn't quite prepared for just how damn attractive he is in the flesh. And it's this overwhelming attraction, and my adoration of him as an artist that made me falter when it came to actually approaching him.

That and the fact that I'm mindful of respecting his personal space.

 

I don't really know what I was thinking when my friend Jess, who works the front desk as a clerk at one of the most reputable (and expensive) hotels in West London texted me earlier to say;  
'you'll never guess who checked-in today....that guy you fancy from Suede'  
Well, I definitely wasn't thinking clearly. Making the impulsive and irrational decision to take a detour from my route home from work.  
After I'd almost passed out with excitement, I found myself making my way across town in rush hour traffic in a daze. Whimsically hoping to just catch a glimpse of my idol.

Now it's blatantly obvious by her unimpressed expression that she wishes she'd just kept quiet about it.

"He's in the bar right now." She had told me, initially amused by my sense of urgency as I rang her to say I was coming over.

 

Train delays and traffic hindered my journey however, and by the time I arrive she informs me he's returned to his room - apparently with nothing more than a bottle of red wine for company.

My heart sinks, and I feel like a complete idiot for having wasted my time, and getting myself all worked up for nothing.

In my head I'd played out different scenarios, trying to figure out how I'd approach him. Now it wasn't going to happen.

Then, as if by a miracle he'd appeared.  
Moving elegantly through the lobby clad in a long black Crombie coat. Head down, focused solely on walking, taking long purposeful strides with his lean powerful legs.

I stood motionless at the desk and tried desperately not to stare, but failed miserably.  
Jess had nudged me, encouraging me to go and talk to him, as he stood statuesque on the steps outside the main entrance, smoking a cigarette and looking effortlessly cool.

"I thought he'd quit smoking." I mutter to myself, and the long-suffering Jess heaves an over-exasperated sigh, as I ponder aloud over why he would be staying in a hotel, especially when he lives here in London anyway.  
He's settled now, he has a family as far as I'm aware, and lives somewhere in Notting Hill.

"Who cares?" She rolled her eyes impatiently. "Just go and ask him for an autograph, he's right there. What are you waiting for? It's what you've come for isn't it?"

I nod dumbly, but can't make my feet move. It's like they've been superglued to the polished faux marble flooring.  
What am I waiting for?  
That's a very good question. I've dreamt of this moment so many times (who says my youth was wasted?) but now it's finally arrived, I just can't face him.

My hair is a mess, having collapsed in the drizzling rain that's been perpetually moistening the bricks and concrete of London all week.  
My kohl liner has most likely smudged, and my lipstick has long gone - having gradually transferred onto my coffee cup at work throughout the duration of the day.

It's easy for Jess to judge, with her enviably impeccable appearance. She's perfectly made up. Her silky hair swept back efficiently in a high ponytail. Her sultry make-up, immaculate.  
In comparison, I feel plain and decidedly crumpled. And probably look like I've been dragged through a hedge backwards. 

Then of course, the enigmatic Mr Anderson came wafting back in, hair like a cats cradle.

I felt my nerves jangling as he sauntered back through the foyer towards the lifts, and then quite unexpectedly he had cast a glance in our direction.  
Our eyes met for the briefest of moments and my heart inexplicably began to beat around like a ping-pong ball.

He has the most beautiful eyes. Like the clearest blue, crystal pools that I could easily drown in. They're the eyes of a deep thinker. Intelligent, mysterious and mournful, as well as expressing a sense of I-could-do-things-to-you-and-you'd-really-like-it.

Startled by the powerful, and unsettling affect, I gaped openly as he disappeared into the lift, out of reach and out of my life forever.

I'm such an idiot. 

That is when I had the eureka moment. Struck with inspiration, or quite possibly madness, I practically begged Jess for her name badge. Pleading my case that if I can somehow pretend that I work here, it'll provide me with a reasonable enough excuse to knock on his door and then I'll be able to actually talk to him at least.

To say that Jess doesn't share my optimism, is an understatement. And I can hardly blame her.

We argue for a while until she eventually gives in, either from irritation or pity, and surrenders her precious identity badge to me. 

I smile triumphantly, feigning a confidence I don't truly feel.

"I can't believe I'm agreeing to this. I mean, what the fuck are you going to say to him?" She's demanding now.

I slip off my coat, and bundle it, along with my handbag, across the desk to her. "I don't know, um....I'll just say I'm a maid-"

"Room attendant!" She corrects vehemently, hurriedly concealing my stuff behind the desk. "And technically, you'd be an Evening room attendant. Make sure you get your story straight, it's my arse on the line here."

"Right, yeah. And I'll just ask him if there's anything he requires, and then I'll pretend that I've suddenly recognised him. As if it's just dawned on me who he is....and...."

Jess folds her arms and looks at me expectantly. "And?" 

"And...then I'll ask him nicely for an autograph."

"You could've just done that when he was here! He's just a regular guy you know, he won't bite. He seems pleasant enough, he's been polite to all the staff."

I sigh heavily, my shoulders sagging forwards slightly.  
She just doesn't get it.  
If only it were that simple, and up until a few minutes ago I wrongly assumed it would be too. But then I'd seen him, and my pulse had involuntarily sped up. My mouth had gone dry, and I'd lost the starch in my legs.  
How was I to know that being in his presence would cause my body to react in such a way?

 

I watch her tapping away now at the computer, and my stomach twists into knots as she provides me with the invaluable information that I need.  
"Room 169, second floor."

I force a weak smile that doesn't reach my eyes, mutter a grovelling 'thank you' and scurry off into the conveniently waiting lift. 

 

I'm going to do this.  
I tell myself.  
I'm finally going to meet Brett Anderson.

As long as I remain calm and stick to my story, it'll be fine.

 

What could possibly go wrong?

 

***************************************


	2. The Infinite Kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happens when you suddenly find yourself in a hotel room with your life-long crush?  
> Well, read on to find out.....

Staring blankly at the control-panel in the lift, I watch as the light illuminates the numbered buttons, highlighting my ascent to the second floor.  
In my already churned-up state, the smooth movement still manages to make my stomach lurch slightly as it comes to a halt and the doors glide open.

Okay, so maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all.

I've checked out my appearance in the mirrored back-wall of the lift, the harsh unforgiving light making me reel backwards slightly in shock.  
Why is it the bathroom light at home is so much more gentler, and cosier? The lighting in public places always seem to accentuate every blemish and pore with crystal clarity, and it's frickin' awful.

Still, I've smoothed down my hair and at least my eyes haven't smudged. So I don't look like I could be an honorary member of Kiss. I wouldn't want to meet my idol with panda-eyes.

 

As I make my way along the soft carpeted hallway, my apprehension grows.  
How am I going to pull this off?  
I've seen the uniforms that these 'room attendants' wear, and my simple black T.shirt, and black boot-cut trousers are a far-cry from the double-breasted, grey cord dresses worn by the housekeeping staff.  
I'm going to have to blag it somehow. At least my attire is plain enough to pass off as work clothes though.

I've still not decided what the hell I'm going to say to Brett when I see him. Surely there's nothing I can possibly say that he hasn't already heard before? Telling him that his music has changed my life, or showering him with compliments is just so clichéd, even though it's true.  
His voice is my favourite sound. His lyrics touch me, his music moves me.  
But it's so unoriginal, I'll be willing to bet that every fan he's ever met has told him the same, if not similar.

 

I glance up and realise I'm now outside room 169.  
He's just on the other side of this door, and anticipation lurches in my chest.  
Oh God, I can't do this. Can I?

Taking a deep breath to calm my nerves, I force myself to reach out and knock firmly - but not to loudly - on the door.

Oh shit. What have I just done?  
I could make a run for it. It's still not too late.  
The voice of sense and reason in my head is now screaming at me to make a childish dash for the stairs or something.  
My eyes dart around looking for a potential escape route, but suddenly it's too late....

I hear the click of the door being unlocked, it swings open and then all at once he's there. Standing right in front of me.

He seems even taller in such close proximity, his legs are ludicrously long, and he's devastatingly handsome in a casual but smart white shirt, and dark denim jeans combo.  
His dark hair, though lighter now than in his younger days, has a just-blow-dried freshly shampooed sheen to it, and the chiseled angles of his face are sharper. 

I blink rapidly, exhaling shakily as my breath whooshes right out of my lungs and my throat constricts.

He's looking at me all expectantly, but my mind has gone completely and hopelessly blank. I can't seem to swallow the thickness that's clogging up my throat.

"Is there somethin' I can help you with?" He says finally, in his melty, distinctly southern accent that never fails to warm me. 

I smile nervously, and manage to find my voice at last. "Yes, um...I mean no. Well what I mean is, is there anything I can do for you?" 

He's looking suitably mystified, so I begin babbling like an idiot before he has chance to answer.  
"I'm a...an evening room attendant, and was just wondering if there's anything you might require."

I indicate towards the name badge, as if it somehow clarifies everything.  
His gaze lowers, scanning it briefly and then he smiles politely.  
"Mm, no. Thank you. I'm alright actually."

Damn. He's going to close the door, so now is the time when I should be pretending to recognise him, which is what I had all planned out in my head.  
I don't know if it's the surge of adrenaline giving me false courage and preventing me from thinking clearly but I'm suddenly overcome with the need to stall for time.  
I don't know why, I just want to somehow prolong the moment and remain in his presence for as long as I possibly can.

"Uh actually, do you mind if I just do a quick room check?" The words come tumbling out of my mouth before I can stop myself. "It's just that I'm..uh, the senior room attendant, and I've been training some new members of the housekeeping team. So it would be really beneficial to them if I could just....well, inspect their work. Make sure they've done a good job, that sort of thing."

Wow. I've surprised myself by how natural lying comes to me, and whilst I'm not entirely comfortable with feeding him this bullshit, amazingly it seems to do the trick.

Granted, he looks slightly perplexed and maybe not entirely convinced, but he rubs his chin and looks thoughtful. Then after a few moments of contemplation, to my utter surprise he nods slowly.

"Yeah alright." 

I swallow hard, my mind whirring as he stands aside and actually holds the door ajar for me.

Muttering a slightly breathless thank you, I slowly walk passed him and enter the room - his room - and try to quell the excitement swirling in my stomach.  
I need to look legit, I mustn't forget that I'm supposed to be a member of staff. Not an imposter with a crush.

The room's quite large, and very bland. All white walls, carpet and bed linen, like all typically expensive hotels.  
There's a vanity table under the large window and I notice a suit jacket hanging on the back of the chair.  
My eyes wander back to the bed where I see he's thrown his long Crombie coat, rather than hanging it up, as well as a dictaphone and several pieces of A4 paper scattered haphazardly.

Oh my God.  
It looks as if he's been writing. Which would be amazing, it could be a new song he's working on.  
I take a few steps closer and resist the urge to squee when I recognise his elaborate handwriting scrawled across the pages. Then I remember that I'm meant to be working, so try to look like I'm inspecting the sort of things that might need inspecting.

Moving around the bed efficiently now, I run my hands across the crisp sheets, as though checking the bed linen. I do a bit of 'um-ing and ah-ing' for added effect.  
It might just be my imagination, but he seems to be getting closer and all the while I can feel his eyes on me, watching my every move.

Oh no. He suspects something doesn't he? So I make the first sensible decision I've made all evening, and decide to get out of here.

"Well, everything seems satisfactory and as it should be." 

I'm about to make a hasty retreat, when he speaks, pointing towards a half-drunk glass of wine and accompanying bottle that are on the nightstand.  
"Actually, would you mind getting rid of that for me? I've had enough of it now, thanks."

"Oh, sure. No problem." 

Glad to be of some help, I pick them up but as I turn I almost collide with him. I have no idea how he got there, it's as if I blinked and missed it, but he's standing right next to me and I can't even think.  
He's caught me completely off guard, and as I find myself facing his Armani-clad chest, to my horror I jerk backwards....spilling the contents of the glass onto the bed.

Oh fuck! Oh no. No....  
This can't be happening.  
I am absolutely mortified, and silently pray that the floor will somehow open up and swallow me.

"Oh shit! I'm so, so sorry." I gabble, immediately setting the bottle and now-empty glass back down.  
And then I realise I've just said shit in front of him too, which isn't exactly appropriate behaviour for a member of staff - especially in a swanky establishment such as this one. Even the doormen here all have polished accents like the queen.

"I'll get you some fresh linen." My eyes dart between the offending growing red stain on the bed cover, and Brett's comically bemused face. 

That's great. Well done me. I've managed to piss him off.  
I daren't push my luck and ask for his autograph now. Slim chance of that, judging by his darkening expression.  
I chance a weak smile as I begin unbuttoning the fastenings on the quilt cover, hoping he might see the funny side and smile back, but he doesn't.

"It's okay." He clears his throat, and gathers up his writing paper. Thank God I didn't spill the wine on that.  
"Accidents happen. It's no great disaster."

Brett has a very expressive face though, and I see his jaw perceptibly tighten in spite of his graciousness. 

I lean over, and start removing the sheet, when suddenly I sense him towering over me again. It's as if he's scrutinising me, undoubtedly questioning my professionalism - or lack thereof - and I can't stop myself from looking up at him.

"So...Jessica..." He says, gazing down at me skeptically through his dark lashes. "...that is your name, right?"

Immediately tensing, all I can do is nod dumbly as he gives me a slow, deliberate look.

"Funny that, the girl on reception is called Jéssica too....I saw you talking to her downstairs."

Oh shit. What do I do?  
I'm torn between the desire to just come clean and confess, or flee from the room as fast as my legs can carry me.

"I um...w-well yes. We're good friends." I stammer nervously, and try to continue with the task of sorting out the sheets. But I can't concentrate, not when he's looming above me.

"That's nice." He says dismissively, a hint of sarcasm in his tone. "But you're not work colleagues. Are you?"

I stiffen, every nerve in my body now standing on end. The air in the room seems to have thickened somehow. I daren't move, because I can't trust my knees not to buckle. And I hold my breath, worried about so much as breathing the wrong way.

"Now, why don't you tell me what you're really doing here?" 

My stomach drops violently, making me feel a bit sick. I knew he was on to me. I need to explain but don't know where to start.  
I muster the courage to straighten up, and he doesn't move. Not that I want him to, but we're standing awfully close and my pulse is misbehaving again.

"I'm just....I'm just a huge fan, I'm sorry. I wanted to ask for an autograph. That's all." I admit honestly, feeling my face flush hot, crippled with embarrassment. "I didn't mean to creep on you or anything, I just didn't have the guts to approach you earlier."

Sucking in his cheeks, and looking decidedly pissed off now, he abruptly turns on his heel and marches towards the door.  
He's going to throw me out, and I really can't fault him for that. My behaviour is unforgivable.  
He pulls it open unnecessarily forcefully, but then pauses. 

"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't phone the police?" He grinds out, impaling me with his piercing blue eyes. 

Gripped by panic, I hold my hands up in mock-surrender. "I know, I know. I've invaded your privacy, and I really am sorry. But please...my friend will get into so much trouble, and she tried to stop me from doing this....please, she'll lose her job because of me. Just because I've been an idiot!"

A strange sort of loaded silence descends, as if our rising blood-pressure is creating a heavily-charged atmosphere within the room.  
Then slowly, and to my immense relief, he closes the door.

"If you wanted a bloody autograph, why didn't you just ask?" He demands, his expression visibly softening. 

My hands go to my hair, and I tug on it in frustration until it's askew. He must think I'm a madwoman.  
"I don't know. I was too nervous...I know it must sound stupid but it's embarrassing when you have a crush on someone." I blurt out.

Slowly he turns to face me, and his perfect pout unexpectedly melts into a slow, lazy lopsided smile that seems to start on one side of his face before the other side catches up.

"I know you must hear that a lot." I say, and try and give a casual laugh.

"Nope. Not in a while actually." He states with a slow blink, as his eyes hold mine.

"Oh. I'm surprised to hear that. But I'm not a groupie, or stalker. I'm really not..." My voice fades away as his soft bark of laughter washes over me. 

"You're definitely no senior room attendant either." 

My blush deepens and I fidget awkwardly, shifting my weight from one foot to the other. "I know. I guess you figured that one out straight away, right?" 

He moves slowly forwards, quirking an eyebrow at me. "I didn't actually, it was the autograph that gave the game away."  
He motions with his hand for me to turn around, and I obligingly comply, though somewhat bewildered. 

I sense him draw up behind me, and the breath catches in my throat. I'm confused and on-edge, and as I feel him carefully lift the back of my T.shirt up, I honest to goodness believe I might pass out.

Somehow though, through the lust-filled haze that's suddenly fogging up my brain, I remember my tattoo.  
Ah...so he must've seen it as I leant over the bed, when my shirt hitched up.  
How mortifying. I want to die. There's just no way I can look him in the face now.

"Oh, that." I sputter "It seemed like a good idea at the time."

"But not anymore?" He asks, and I freeze as I feel his fingertips trail over my lower back, tracing the black ink. His touch sends sweet, electrifying vibrations along my skin, making me shudder. "I suppose you eventually grow out of crushes, dont'cha?"

His question sounds more like a statement, and for some reason time seems to be of the essence. But the sensations he's causing make if difficult for me to think, and I can't quite find the words I need to properly phrase what I want to say.

"No I think you'll always be under my skin, in every sense of the word." I croak.

I feel him hesitate, and then suddenly he leans in, lips pressed close as his breath feathers against my ear. "Well you already have my autograph, it's permanently inked on your body. I dunno how I'm supposed to top that."

I close my eyes, his words heating and burning my insides. Emboldened by the strong, raw desire I feel for this man, I have no idea where it comes from, but it's like a rush of confidence possesses me. It's as if his touch has tripped a switch and I've come alight.

"Well I may not be a room attendant..." My mouth has gone dry and my voice is a rasp "....but like I said before, is there anything I can do for you?" 

I hear the words and can't believe that it's me that's spoken them.  
I'm seriously losing it. Never in a million years would I usually dare say something like this, and to him of all people.  
The reality hits like a brick to the face, as I realise I've basically just propositioned him.

Brett moves away, and at first I think I've overstepped the mark. Perhaps taken a friendly flirtation too far, or even misread the signs.  
My mind is still struggling to catch up, being as this potent situation has escalated so quickly.

He walks around so he's in front of me, then his mouth kicks up at the corner in a secretive way, making him look almost boyish.  
His gaze is heavy and intrusive, and even though I'm fully clothed it feels like those gorgeous eyes are stripping me bare.

"Hm. I reckon so." He edges closer, and his voice slows and deepens into a sensual drawl. "And now I'm gonna ask you the same question."

Okay, so now I am at a loss. How do I respond to that? If I answer him plainly it'd go something like this;  
'I want you! I want you so fucking bad, just take me. Take me right here and now. Screw me senseless, please!'  
But I don't say that.....for obvious reasons.

I don't know what to say or what to do next, but the need to do something is making me lose my mind.  
For the first time, I dare to hold his gaze, and feel the familiar pulse of arousal deep in my belly.  
I feel like I've been issued a challenge, as though he's waiting, silently daring me to make a move.

God, I feel like such a blushing virgin. The sense of urgency to feel even closer to him is unbearable.  
He's so close, I could kiss him.  
I get a thrill at the very thought of that, and the sound of my pulse beating in my ears is so loud I'm convinced he can hear it too. Where should I put my hands? Should I grab hold of him or just lean in and..?

"Here." He grabs my hands, tugging me forwards and places my arms around his neck. "This is a good place to start." 

I place my hands flat against his shoulders, feeling like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming car. My pulse is sprinting, the knot tightens in my stomach, then there's suddenly no more hesitation, no slow approach or decision to be made as he dips his head, and claims my mouth in a deep kiss.

I'm certain my heart is going to burst right out of my chest, the soft push of his lips against mine turn my knees to water. His large, certain hands drift down to my waist as if holding me steady, keeping me upright as I melt into him. My small body trembles against his tall one, and I strain upwards, returning his passion.

It's like a dream, I'm kissing Brett Anderson and I'm afraid that I'll wake up any moment. Except the unique scratchy roughness of his chin grazing my own, feels gloriously real.  
This is the man I've lusted after for years, and I suddenly feel all lightheaded. Our breath mingles, he tastes sweet like honey and mint and I'm feeling stunned. Like I've been clubbed over the head with lust as he gently eases my lips open, and his velvet tongue invades my mouth.

At first I'd stood motionless, incapable of thought but now my hands are gripping onto his shoulders for dear life as I breath him in, inhaling the spicy scent of his aftershave, the fruity tang of his clean hair, and beneath all those layers, the masculine smell of his skin.  
God he's so eatable and delicious, I want to savour every single touch, taste and smell. He tastes fantastic. He smells amazing. He kisses like a frickin' God. And I'm certain he's going to be the death of me. 

His kisses grow more demanding, as his passion grows. He can sense my willingness, just as I can sense his need.  
Mouths tightening, tongues twining, we're both panting breathlessly but neither of us are willing to stop.  
I never want him to stop.  
His lips, his tongue, are perfect. They explore, arouse and take.  
And I will gladly let him have whatever he wants.  
He can have it all.....

 

***************************************


	3. Animal Lover

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ever wondered what type of lover Brett Anderson would be?  
> You're about to find out.....

Oh God, this is happening. It is really happening.

I'm snogging Brett Anderson.  
Brett - Freaking - Anderson.  
The man who has always reduced my insides to a gooey mess.

I'm gripping the collar of his shirt in my small hands, as he breaks from the limb-melting kiss, his breathing almost as hampered as my own.

Things have definitely heated up quite rapidly between us during what feels like the billions of hours we've spent kissing, though in reality it's only been a couple of minutes.

Admittedly, we were starting to get a bit hot and heavy. My breasts throb, eager to be touched and my groin aches. And now I'm terrified that he's come to his senses and isn't going to go ahead with whatever he might've been willing to do.

Already mourning the loss of his lips, I long to feel his racing breath again, all hot and heavy inside my mouth. But as it turns out, he has other intentions for them now, and immediately sets about putting them to good use, trailing a path of hot open-mouthed kisses down my neck and along my collarbone.

Oh. Hello. 

So, he isn't calling a halt to our passionate little clinch then, and a strange sense of relief makes me feel almost hysterically giddy. 

Thank the gods. I owe them one. I have truly been blessed.

I'm shaking like a leaf, I notice, as I bravely push my hands into his fabulous hair. This is un-freaking-believeable. I still can't process that this is actually happening, and I feel an odd rush of emotion as I ruffle my hands through it's silky softness. His lips are ghosting over my tingling skin, burning a path downwards. Being kissed so intimately by him is having a spectacular effect on my groin. The feel of those pouty lips along the line of my throat is almost more than I can bare. I don't want him to stop, ever....but he has to once he reaches the neckline of my irksome T.shirt. 

Damn. 

He soon resolves the problem though, as he dips his large hands underneath the troublesome garment, gliding his palms up my sides. He catches hold of the material, and tugs upwards on it, prompting me to raise my arms, and peels it over my head, before flinging it aside. 

He stares openly at my chest now, as if hypnotised by the rapid rise and fall of my breasts, as I struggle to catch my breath, and I shift nervously beneath the heat of his heavy gaze. He immediately provides me with a distraction though, as his hands don't remain idle for long.

I gasp, head lolling back, as he hooks his thumbs into the straps of my bra, slipping it down with expertise, and suddenly I am bare and in his hands. My skin is flushed with arousal, and he's setting me on fire with his touch. Running the slightly rough pads of his fingertips over my nipples, so that they rise beneath his gentle caress. This is crazy. It's too good to be true. And I almost swoon. 

His head lowers, kissing between the mounds of my breasts, and when I feel his skilful mouth envelop each in turn, I moan unashamedly as a cluster of shivers wriggle their way down my spine. My noises seem to encourage him, and he licks and suckles at the swollen nubs of my nipples more frantically, with an erotic enthusiasm that threatens to test my self restraint.  
I grasp at his shoulders, tugging at his shirt in desperation. As if silently begging for him to get topless too - and he really needn't stop there.

As if sensing my need, he somewhat reluctantly ceases his tantalising ministrations, and looks up at me through heavy-lidded eyes. And holy mother of God I swear my ovaries explode there and then. 

"Do it." He states firmly, his voice little more than a smooth sensual whisper. 

Apparently having read my mind - along with all my deepest, darkest desires - I feel a flush of excitement rush through my veins as he gives me consent to do the one thing that I've always dreamed of doing. Driven on by pure primal instinct, I go straight for his buttons, and instead of unbuttoning them, somehow find the strength to tear his shirt open. 

The buttons go scattering to the floor, and he emits a low, utterly sexy moan from deep within his throat, seemingly both surprised and aroused by my actions.

My heart is in my mouth, as I cast my eyes down at his bare chest. He's sculpted and so beautiful. His pale skin like marble, is well contoured and bears the etchings of solid abdominal muscle. He shrugs out of the material and it slips to the floor, not seeming to give a damn that I've just ruined a ludicrously expensive shirt.

I can't take my eyes off his body, drinking in the glorious sight of his exposed flesh. He's mouth-wateringly toned, and smooth. Eagerly I run my hands across the angles of his broad shoulders, along the granite muscle of his biceps, down his brawny arms, before moving to his chest. And as I trace my fingers across his taut stomach I feel his muscles bunching and tightening beneath my touch.

My eyes drag back up to his face, and he looks every bit the devil he is. Breathtakingly handsome, mature but still so wild and untamed, dark, mysterious and sinful. How could anyone ever resist him?

I make an inarticulate sound as he surges forwards, pressing his chest against my breasts. Our bare skin, warm against cool, stinging with the contact, feels amazing. His lips hungrily search out mine, and he takes possession of them again in a raw, desperate kiss. His passion and ferocity surprises and excites me, and makes my head spin.

There's an urgency, a sense of need to his kisses and body language, as if he isn't able to get close enough. He seems determined to devour my mouth, teasing and tasting with such sweet erotic desire, I fleetingly find myself wondering what other wonderful things he could do with that tongue. 

And those divine lips, they make me forget who he is, who I am. The outside world has ceased to exist, the room falls out of focus. Forgotten. I no longer think, I just feel. Revelling in the sensory overload, which is sublime. 

He angles his body and crushes into me, and I choke back another gasp as I feel the distinctive hardness in his jeans. I instinctively react by wantonly bringing my hips forward, and my bold actions only serve to spark his libido further, as his hands are suddenly grasping my arse firmly, pulling me to him, grinding the swollen throbbing column against my crotch. 

I honestly can't take no more, as I pulsate damply against his clothed erection. I have never despised clothing so much as I do right now, for being thin enough to feel, but thick enough to not feel enough. 

"Oh...God." I moan into his hot mouth, no longer able to contain myself.

"No..." He responds, with a devilish smirk against my lips. "...just me."

His remark alone is enough to make me go weak at the knee, and I'm convinced he knows it.

"Be my God." I retort clumsily, and giggle nervously at my own silliness.

To my delight, he laughs softly. There's nothing sexier than seeing a hot guy laugh, especially when you've made the joke - albeit a bad one - but then our laughter dissolves as he looks straight into my eyes with a daunting stare of sexual confidence. I gulp, as without breaking eye contact he reaches down between our bodies, and confidently slips an impatient hand into my trousers. I feel his long, lovely fingers explore their way inside my underwear, pushing them aside, and I have to bite my bottom lip hard as he begins teasing me with slow, concentrated strokes. Moving in a gentle but firm circular motion.

Holy shit.

The sensation of his fingers expertly rubbing against my swollen clit makes me grasp blindly at his forearms, needing something, anything, to hold onto, otherwise my knees are actually going to give way. I grip hold of him tightly for support, my fingernails inadvertently digging into his soft flesh, leaving marks no doubt.

Gently, I feel him ease a long finger inside of me, delving into my wet female heat until it's immersed right up to the knuckle. The muscles in my thighs tense, and I quiver against him but he holds me firmly in his certain hands.  
He's strong, so strong but completely controlled as he draws it back out, then repeats the motion, increasing the rhythm when my hips involuntarily buck against his hand. 

I feel a tightening deep inside, as the ardent pleasure begins to consume me. Unlike the other lovers from my past, who's caresses were rough, hurried and clumsy in comparison, Brett's expert touch is most definitely not that of a novice. He is precise, gentle yet firm and gloriously skilled. Knowing exactly how to whip a girl up into a frenzy.

Certain I am going to snap under the pressure of the tightening, I'm desperate for release as he relentlessly continues, sliding his long digit in and out of my pooling core, whilst ensuring to rub the pad of his thumb against that secret sweet-spot, working me towards the pivotal of all pleasures.  
My breath comes out in small pants until my throat goes dry and I writhe against his hand, desperately trying to not whimper and mewl, but it doesn't take long before the inimitable sweet tension I feel building, erupts in a luxuriously intense climax.

I let out a strangled cry, and my grip tightens painfully on his arms as the wave of euphoria washes me away, threatening to drown me. Threads of pleasure ripple down my trembling legs into the very soles of my feet, as I come on his hand, unraveling like a ball of twine.

"Fuck. You're so wet." Brett growls, inspecting his glistening hand, and my face burns hot as he unfurls his tongue and licks down the length of his finger lewdly, before pushing the entire digit into his mouth, sucking on it with a flair of sensuality.  
He registers the way my eyes bulge slightly, deeply affected by his erotic gesture, and smiles salaciously. "Mm. You make me feel young again."

Honestly, for a man who is still in his forties, and undoubtedly in his prime, I decide to just take the huge compliment rather than argue that he's not exactly old.  
Not trusting myself to speak anyway, I decide to keep silent and focus instead on returning the sexual favour. My fingers are practically twitching with anticipation to touch him, to really feel him.

As if waking from a trance I reach down to his groin, and his eyes briefly flicker shut as I press my hand to the swollen thickness straining against the tightness of his jeans. My eyes widen as my curious fingers feel him through the denim, solid and warm against my palm, and he exhales sharply when I begin rubbing up and down his shaft.

He is more than ready to take this further now, it's as if I'm able to sense the tension well-up within him at my own readiness to engage, and go all the way.

"Please.." I simper, sounding all breathy and needy. "...please just, just fuck me."

At first I'm not sure if I've thought or said the words but judging by his face, I've definitely spoken them aloud. His expression now bears more of a resemblance to an animal than a man. His gorgeous eyes narrow and take on a feral appearance and his lips curl into a wolfish leer, exposing his teeth and the tip of his tongue.

I can't believe I've just said that to him, but I barely have time to collect my thoughts, when as if suddenly overcome with maddening lust, he unexpectedly clasps a strong hand to the back of my neck, and I let out a startled squeal as he spins me around with great ease.  
He guides me forwards and I let him move me around like a mannequin as he steers me towards the bed, pushing me face down onto the mattress.

At first I'm a bit apprehensive, I feel slightly vulnerable and completely at his mercy. Everything is moving at super-speed now. Like running down a hill, we're gaining momentum, and with a quick zip and a tug, my leather ankle boots are removed and dropped onto the floor.  
Perhaps I had taken the lead initially by starting this, but now his fervent desire has taken over, and he is very much in control. 

His large hands begin tugging at my trousers, and fortunately they're loose-fitting enough around the waist to not need unfastening. He pulls them down impatiently, as if irritated by the whole convention of having to wear clothing, and as they go they conveniently take my underwear with them.

Oh holy, holy fuck.

I blush deeply, and turn my head to chance a look in his direction, feeling incredibly awkward as I let him disentangle my twisted knickers and trousers from my legs. I shift around uneasily at the sight of his passion-filled eyes staring down at me, unblinking and filled with want, whilst they rove over my naked arse.

Painfully aware of my nudity, my cheeks flame scarlet. I feel so exposed, and I have to drop my gaze, too embarrassed to look him in the face. I pretend to suddenly find the bedclothes fascinating. That is until I hear the tell-tale sound of his belt unbuckling, and my head immediately snaps up.

His fingers diligently work his zip down and he practically tears open his jeans, forcing them down just enough to allow his large erection to spring free. My eyes almost pop from their sockets and a girlish gasp escapes my lips. 

Oh dear god, I am going to be torn in two with that thing!

Shivering with nervous anticipation, I'm eager for him to make his next move. Yes I'm super-fucking-nervous but I can't turn back now. Not without having him. I want us to conjoin, to feel him inside me and know that we have done this together. The two of us.

There is no more foreplay, no slow touching, or gentle petting as his fingers grasp me fiercely by the hips as if he won't ever let go. Instinctively I try to press my trembling thighs together, naively not wanting him to see, well, everything, but he forces them even further apart and positions himself behind me, so he has me exactly how he wants me. 

I squirm slightly and his grip tightens, holding me in place and we're locked in a sudden sensual tug of war. The heavily-charged, sexual energy that hangs in the air between us crackles like static electricity against my skin, and I wonder if he feels it too.

I try to steady my breathing, but my pulse is erratic and my blood is chugging through my veins, heart beating like a tribal drum against my rib cage. I can feel myself burning inside, wet, warm and hankering for the moment he'll take me. Everything glows, throbbing with anticipation  
I let out a small squeak as I feel the tip of his cock probing at my slick entrance. Knowing how hard and ready he is, poised and eager to penetrate, the anticipation is painful. Like waiting at the top of a high peak, and not knowing if you would fly or fall.

Then all at once, he is there.  
He nudges between my warm folds, but then pushes in one long hard thrust, entering me so suddenly and fiercely that I cry out with the sheer force and shock of it.  
Sheathing himself to the hilt, he fills me so completely that we both gasp with a simultaneous expression of exactness. 

"Brett." I say his name like it were a curse word, in a low strangled voice.

Placing a large hand at my hip as if steadying me, and making sure that neither of us move, he freezes for a moment to give us both time to recover. 

The initial pain fades to slight discomfort, as if I've now been stretched to accommodate him, plus I find the overwhelming sensation of having him inside me absolutely incredible. I can feel every inch of him, impaling me in blissful agony, unable to tell where I end and he begins.

"Fuck. You're so tight." He remarks lewdly, but there's no time to respond as he pulls back, using my hips as leverage then surges forwards, taking up a punishing rhythm at the very first instant. As if he's determined to give me what I asked for. This is by no means gentle love-making. It's raw, rough, spine-rattling sex. After all, I did plead for him to fuck me, so he's very obligingly giving me what I want. What I need. Which is him, fucking me hard.

My head pushes into the rumpled up bed linen, but I don't care. The intense pleasure floods me, defeating in its intensity as he keeps up the pace. Every thrust harder and deeper than the previous, leaving a beautiful, unbelievable impact on my body. 

He drives into me with such rapid force, the bed shakes beneath the strength of his movements. He feels so utterly exquisite I can no longer refrain from expressing myself vocally, and begin to moan with his every thrust. 

Spurred on by the sounds he's eliciting from me, he continues to pound unapologetically, his hands fondling and squeezing my arse, the yielding flesh pleasurable to him, adding to the sensory delight.

"Fuckin' hell..." He whispers raggedly. "you feel good."

There aren't words enough to describe what I feel for this man. If I could I would, but I couldn't even begin to compare him to any other. He is so beyond compare.

He comes crushing down on me, his bare chest feeling deliciously cool as it comes into contact with my back. He scrapes his teeth along the base of my neck then licks the small sting away, the sensuous action causing goosebumps to rise on my skin.

"Oh, fuck!" I cry, as an animalistic instinct takes him over, and he sinks his teeth carefully into my shoulder, taking care not break the skin but gripping me firmly like an animal does it's mate. Holding me in place so that I can't escape the pleasure. So that I can't escape him.

He's like a stallion in heat, and I'm panting and bucking against him like his wiling mare. He's driving me to the brink, and the tension is making me lose all inhibitions, bathing my senses in the wild beauty of what we are doing to each other.

I hear his muffled masculine sounds and feel his voice reverberate against my skin, so distinct and pleasurable with his every movement. His thrusts quicken, and I can feel them, strong and deep and for a moment I think I might actually come apart beneath him. 

The sweet inimitable tightening deep within, unravels in a sudden orgasm, making my entire body feel like a thread that has been pulled tight then snapped into two. I shake violently, my limbs buzzing with excitement and stars stud my vision. I arch up off the bed, and he withdraws from my pulsing core as my back bows.

At first I think he's about to come, so I'm absolutely astounded when instead he flips me over, slowly taking hold of one of my putty-legs, his hands exploring it tentatively, sliding his palm from knee to inner-thigh, before placing it on his shoulder.

"You alright?" He murmurs, his voice coming out all husky.

I nod and smile at him dreamily, which he matches with a foxy grin of his own. His eyes fuse with mine, letting me know what he is going to do to me. With me. Then ranking between my trembling thighs, he slides back into me. Like an eel into oil.

I completely lose all of my senses to him as he places a soft kiss to my leg, his tenderness a stark contrast to the brutal rhythm he has set. His lustful ravishment of my body, has me shaking and sweating despite him doing all the work.

What he's doing between my thighs is nothing short of miraculous, his stamina is enviable, his technique perfect, as he pushes me towards climax yet again....nearing....nearing

My hands fist into the crumpled sheets, and all the while he's fucking me with a rabid intensity that almost makes my teeth clatter. Hitting just the right spot to make me sprint to the finish line rather than walk, and I'm wondering if he'll ever join me.

"Oh...Brett!" I cry out for him as he flexes forwards, and a violent pleasure whiplashes through my body like white-hot flashes of lightening. 

Using my elbows to lever upwards, unable to remain still due to the surging pleasure that threatens to shatter my soul into a million pieces, I buck hard against his groin.  
Whether or not this is enough to send him hurtling over the edge I don't know, but he stills abruptly, and an utterly primal, masculine groan tears from his chest.

It's certainly a sight to behold, his muscles flexing and tightening, and his handsome face, now shimmering with sweat, briefly contorts into an expression of agonising ecstasy.  
I feel him come, the distinct sensation of his release spilling deep inside me, filling me with his liquid heat.

He thrusts two more times, then once satiated he relaxes and his body involuntarily sags, falling down onto me heavily.  
I can't breath, I can't move, and I wouldn't want to.  
Sweet God I think I love this man. I love him so much it almost kills me. I'm not going to think anout anything else right now. I just want to wallow in the euphoria, the post-orgasmic haze. 

I'm already aching, my body is feeling extremely tender, but I couldn't care less. Inside I am glowing.  
I bring my arms up, wrapping them around the broad expanse of his back, and bury my face into the curve of his shoulder as we both lay sated and spent, coming down from our high.

My eyes drift shut, and I breath in deeply, inhaling his delicious spicy scent. A hint of fresh sweat adds to the sexiness, and as well as that there's the more distinct smell of manliness, of testosterone. Of sex.

 

I've just had mind-blowing, sweaty, passionate, life-changing sex.

.....with Brett Anderson.

 

**************************


End file.
